The Mirror of Echoes is a mystery play that explores the interplay between thought, language, and feeling—the fundamental threads that weave the fabric of human identity. Set in a surreal and liminal space where the physical and the metaphysical merge, the play invites its characters—and the audience—to confront the complexities of selfhood and the illusions of control, certainty, and meaning.

(released as a serial.)

Cast of Characters

Contents

Act I, Scene 1: The Gathering
Act I, Scene 2: The First Feedback Loop

Act I, Scene 1

Setting:
The stage is dimly lit, revealing a space that feels both ancient and abstract. Faint whispers echo in the darkness, fragments of half-heard conversations in multiple languages. A soft spotlight flickers on Xantho, who stands in the center, drawing a circle on the floor with chalk. The circle glows faintly as he completes it, emitting an unearthly hum.

[Enter Xantho, dressed in a patchwork cloak adorned with symbols and fractal patterns. He stands within the glowing circle, surveying the empty stage.]

XANTHO:
(With a sly smile, addressing the audience directly)
Welcome, wanderers of the liminal. Tonight, we embark not on a journey but on a question—one that has no end and no beginning, only echoes that ripple through the space between. You have come to witness a play, but let me tell you a secret: it is you who will be played.

(The whispers grow louder, then fade. A faint knocking is heard from offstage. Xantho gestures toward it.)

Ah, they’ve come. The seekers. Each carrying a knot they cannot untie. Shall we invite them in?

[The knocking intensifies. A shadowy figure, Thane, briefly crosses the stage, unseen by Xantho. The whispers shift into fragmented words: “truth,” “feeling,” “thought.” The knocking ceases.]

XANTHO:
(To the unseen figures)
Come, step into the circle. Bring your questions, your certainties, your doubts. But be warned: what enters this space will not leave unchanged.

[The stage darkens, and a sharp light reveals Alethea, entering from stage right. She carries a stack of books and wears a flowing cloak marked with runes. She surveys the space with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.]

ALETHEA:
(To herself, as if reciting)
A word is a map, but what of the land? Is the land shaped by the map, or the map by the land?

(Looks up at Xantho)
I was told I might find answers here. Though I suspect I’ll leave with more questions.

XANTHO:
(Grinning)
Questions are the answers you’ve forgotten how to ask. You’ll fit right in.

[Alethea moves cautiously into the circle, setting her books down. As she does, Siris enters from stage left. He wears a black coat with subtle, shifting geometric patterns and carries a fragment of parchment. His expression is sharp, skeptical.]

SIRIS:
(Coldly)
This is the great summoning? Chalk lines and theatrics? I was told there’d be something…substantial.

XANTHO:
(Amused)
Substance? Is that what you seek? Or merely a way to name what you cannot grasp?

SIRIS:
(Taking a step forward)
Words are prisons. I’m here to break free, not to draw new bars.

ALETHEA:
(Snapping back)
Prisons? Without words, you’d have no thought to free. Or is your skepticism merely the shadow of something you refuse to admit?

[The two lock eyes, tension building. Before Xantho can interject, Myra enters from upstage center, barefoot, trailing ribbons of light that flutter as she moves. Her presence softens the space.]

MYRA:
(Quietly, addressing no one in particular)
I felt it before I heard it. A pull, like the breath before a storm.

XANTHO:
(To Myra)
Ah, the pulse. You feel before you think, and that is why you’re here.

MYRA:
(Looking at the others)
Words twist what’s true, but feelings…they ripple outward. They touch everything.

SIRIS:
(Sharply)
And yet, without thought, your feelings would scatter like ash in the wind.

ALETHEA:
(To Siris, pointedly)
Ash, or seeds? Scatter enough, and something takes root.

[Before the conversation can continue, Thane steps forward from the shadows, his presence shifting the atmosphere. He is cloaked in flowing black and gray fabric, his form partially translucent, shimmering with fragmented patterns of stars and symbols. His voice is low and haunting.]

THANE:
(Softly)
You speak of words, thoughts, and feelings as if they are separate threads. But what if the loom has no weaver?

[The stage falls silent. The Seekers look at Thane uneasily, but Xantho smiles as if expecting him.]

XANTHO:
(Clapping his hands)
The players are gathered. The circle is drawn. And now, the knot begins to tighten.

[The whispers return, louder this time, overlapping in fragmented phrases. The mirror at the back of the stage begins to shimmer, faint reflections of the Seekers appearing within it.]

XANTHO:
(To the audience)
Welcome to The Mirror of Echoes. You are more than witnesses; you are threads in the tapestry. Watch closely, or don’t. It matters little. The knot will tighten regardless.

[The scene ends with the glow of the circle intensifying, the Seekers standing at its edges, and the faint reflection of the audience appearing in the shimmering mirror.]

[Blackout.]